Lipsticky
by CreamTea
Summary: A sticky story full of surprises.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters and will not make money out of them or this story. The storyline of "Lipsticky", however, belongs to me.

**A.N.:** Hey to y'all - I'm back again; working on my absolute special topic: Ron and Hermione. To all of you Ginny/Hermione-Shippers out there, I'm trying to make the new chapter for "She was a girl" really worthwhile. Please be patient.

Now on with the story... enjoy!

Lipsticky

"Hi", he says, and you could swear that his eyes just blinked in the sunlight, glittering like the little fake crystals on your purse. "What are you doing here?" He's thinks he's just being nice, as always, and you can't help feeling a little insulted although you know that it's only him. "Well", you say, and try not to sound too shattered, "I considered doing my homework out here, as is more pleasurable than doing it inside – and here I am." How wrong you are – you haven't even brought your pen. No books, no handkerchiefs - your bag only contains a lipstick, the little red one with the gold rim that says "creamy delight" on a small label on its cover; that personal secret you bought last week in Diagon Alley for a full galleon. It was quite expensive actually, but somehow you felt you needed it now that you were a woman. And you knew you'd changed. But him..."Ooh", he says "Hermione and pleasurable – that just doesn't fit together." And with a heartbreaking grin he walks off with his brand-new school-sponsored broomstick, only to take off high into the air (moments later). "Bullshit" you mouth, you have to restrain yourself from pouncing onto the neat lawn and ripping out all the tiny green razorblades. You sit down and try to think of a genuinely professional way to steady your breath, but somehow it just won't work out - you can't concentrate and always seem to catch yourself squinting up to the tiny figures sweeping through the air on their broomsticks, leaping and looping with admirable speed. Finally you give in to you and stare up into the blindingly sunlit skies until you can't see anything else apart from very very much light.

But that doesn't keep you from listening. Girls' voices, voices that reach dazzling heights when they talk about _that_ – you don't like what you're hearing. "Hey, Parvi, do you see him?" "Yea, Lavender, he's the new keeper!" "I know... heeeheeeheee...and he likes me! I can just tell!" You tear your eyes away from pleasant, bright nothingness, and after not seeing a thing for about twenty seconds, you see two very short skirts approaching. Short and pink, you think, before you close your eyes again. I would never wear that. It's just so tasteless.

Somehow the world always seems louder with your eyes closed; you hear grass crunching heels passing you and giggly screeches and swishing hair – and a boyish "Hey girls... "

Your throat constricts. You had seen this coming. Somehow you just can't bear to open your eyes.

"Hey Rooon... you were so awfully good up there I just had to come and tell you."

"Well, I guess I am pretty good at anything, huh?" That "huh" told everything it wasn't supposed to say.

Were has all his... _confidence_ come from? Where is the tall, lanky boy that had been confusing you since third year? Ten metres away there stands an awful kind of oppressor. And he is a bloody beginner.

"Well then, Lavender... Saturday at Madam Puddifoot's."

"Madam Puddifoot's... oh Ron, that's sooo sweet!"

Slurp. Her kisses sound like those of a pet dog. A flimsy pink poodle. You try very hard not to snort.

That bitch.

So grass crunches again, heels staggering off in the opposite direction, quidditch boots in yours. You feel a body plop down beside you.

"Hey Hermione."

That bastard.

"Come on, I know you're not sleeping."

You turn over. At least your back is as nice as Lavender's.

"So... seeing as you are... _asleep_, you won't mind if I went trough your bag..."

No. He'd never do that. He's not even good at bluffing.

At first you are quite taken aback when you hear that certain rustling. Then you remember your lipstick. Suddenly you are wide awake.

You see him staring at the little black object with the gold rim around it, the beautiful ring-like constriction that made you notice it in the first place.

"Hermione, that's...that's a lipstick."

"No, Ron – you won't, give that BACK."

Unfrazed, he pulled it open and out went the bright red stick.

"It's red."

"Ron _please_."

He stares at his miraculous revealing with an expression you have never seen before. You decide you want to get to know it better.

"Put it on, Hermione."

"No, I won't."

"Put it on."

"No, I won't, Ron. I'm not Lavender."

Snort. "What did you buy it for, if not for putting it on?"

You smirk, and for the first time you feel it coming naturally. "The question is, whom did I buy it for."

"I thought it was yours."

Your smile only grows wider. "It is."

"So why..." Oh, and then you feel the suspicion. "So you bought it for Vicky, didn't you? Or that stupid McLaggen guy, huh? Huh?"

Fuelled by all his confusion you manage to look him straight in the eye. Hard.

"Who do you think I bought it for?"

Somewhere in the back of his head you see it all snap into place. He hasn't realized that yet.

He just sits there, and stares at you. Blankly. Somehow he tries to comprehend.

Slowly you take the lipstick out of his hand. "Still", you say, "Still, or I'm gonna smear it."

And then you trace his lips with it, softly, you see the perfect contours, and the freckles, the small one right above the left corner of his mouth, and the darker one in the small crook between his nose and his upper lip. "Open", you say and he obeys.

His lips look beautiful that way, all red, all shining, they are so much different from a girl's. His are thinner, lighter, and somehow they seem quicker than yours. You draw the last line, and suddenly he lets out a shaky breath, and you smear. "Oh, stupid boy." You say, and lift your hand. You see him wince, but you only clear the smudge away. Carefully you close the lipstick, then you look at him again. "You're beautiful.", you say. "H...handsome", he tries, but you only shake your head at him. "No, beautiful. Stick to that." You close your hand over his, gently, and when he opens it, he will find the little gold-rimmed lipstick lying in there peacefully, quietly, as if nothing had ever happened that had made him yours.


End file.
